


waiting for her

by crispycrumblycrust



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispycrumblycrust/pseuds/crispycrumblycrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While waiting for Lizzy, Dembe and Red have a heart-to-heart...well, sorta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for her

He glanced outside, watching as some rushed towards their destination. Or others standing there, leaning towards the wall, waiting for someone, or just taking their time, enjoying the sun on their face. He cocked his head. The persons outside didn't help his mood.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what must go through someone’s mind as they race through the street. Are they at all aware at what's going on around them? Do they know they make a very suitable target for any kind of crime?” 

He remained silent. He was likely in his own world, or transfixed at something happening outside. 

He sighed, entwined his fingers and rested them on his lap. 

“I also sometimes wonder what’s going on inside that head of yours.” 

He noted that his driver slash bodyguard slash friend slash so many others things glanced at him via the rear mirror, but he didn’t give any response, likely thinking that this was another time of him being bored and rambling about everything and nothing. 

“Or Lizzy.” This caught his attention. Their eyes met at the rear view. He smiled and tried not to be too smug. 

“What about the girl, friend?” He understood the words, even if every vowel oozed of Arabic. 

“Well, for example, what is going on in her mind right now, as I hope she is rushing towards us? Or every time she calls for me, as a last resort? Or every time she seems to be so much closer to you than to me…” No, he wasn’t jealous, he was only intrigued and interested, nothing more. 

Not his possessive streak whenever she was involved, nor his intimidating side wanting to terrify one of his closest friends, always being there whenever he needed him for either trivial or important tasks.

No, he wasn’t grilling him for information. Only enemies had that privilege, or former allies, or even strangers. But not him. 

He didn’t answer, but he thought he glimpsed the beginnings of a smile. He decided to venture further. He would understand.

“For example, why would she always greet you in such a merry manner, and me so chilly, merely peeking at me, as if I’m not there? And as she says her goodbye, why does her body language suggests she wants to hug you, or at least lean towards you, while she almost will spring away as soon as I want to get any closer?” 

He was glancing in front of him again, contact lost. 

He sighed deeper and sat more relaxed. He was getting older. He must take care of his body, not overexpose his limbs – or anything of his body – too much. 

“But what I am the most interested in at this exact moment is what you two were murmuring about when I wasn’t in hearing range?” 

Their eyes met again. 

“Jealous, my friend.”

He scoffs – not because he couldn't understand the Arabic words. His loyal friend could be very aware of his surroundings, one of the reasons why he would trust him with his very own life. 

“Hardly. Just a bit peaked in interest.” 

“You are jealous, my friend, admit it.” 

“Am not.” He resisted the urge for his mouth to plucker, and he glanced outside again. He wondered once again where she was. It was already half past one. 

Th soft chuckle – so rare of him to show it, even more now that the circumstances had changed so very much – brought his attention back to his driver, his bodyguard, his friend. 

“To think I will ever witness this day…” A chuckle, softer yet.

“Do not worry, Raymond, you sill have a close spot in her heart.” 

“Well, not consciously. She avoids me as the plague. It truly frustrates me at times and I wonder so many times what is going on in that pretty, smart head of her.” 

“Ask her.” A very direct gaze at him, even more enhanced because he had turned his head towards him, and pinned him in a stare.

Silence met both of them, and then he laughed, almost snorted. He didn’t laugh with him, didn't share this display of emotion. “I mean it, Raymond. Ask her.” 

He laughed again, harder. “Perhaps another time.” He didn’t miss his subtle roll of eyes. He understood, if the situations were reversed, he would had done the same. 

“Now, where does our lovely lady remains? It’s already thirty five minutes past one.” 

As soon as he had said it, the silhouette of the woman in question came into view. Her whole body wrapped in thick clothing, thick shawl and even a hat to cover her head with. A bit too much... Overdressed, as always. 

He opened the door. It wasn’t too quickly, only just merely. He said to himself that it was because he had grown a bit impatient, not worried about her safety. He held the door open for her, not because of chivalry, but because he wanted to. He waited a bit until he returned to his own seat, not because he was trying to get a few seconds alone with her, or avoiding a certain someone, but because he was just admiring the view. A very pleasant view. 

But as soon as he had closed the door, the other door opened, as she stepped out again. He tried to reach out towards her. 

“Lizzy…” But the door closing muffled her name. He was abut to get out too, and glanced at Dembe. But unlike him, he wasn’t having a minor panic attack. Indeed, he only chuckled softly and observed this whole thing, this embarrassment. That traitor...

She opened the front door and smoothly stepped in. 

“Hello, Dembe.” 

“Miss Keen.” He nodded. As expected, she ignored him as she strapped the safety belt on. He pursed his lips. He didn't like it, no matter how many times he saw this. Even though he knew how special Dembe was – to him, to anyone – he couldn't stop the slivers of jealousy coursing through his brain.

If Dembe wasn't this close to him, if they weren't best friends, perhaps even more, he would had stepped out of the car at that exact moment, walked towards the driver's seat, drag him out, render him unconscious and would drive the damn car himself for once.

Alas, reality and thoughts differed greatly. So he could only remain seated – all alone in the back – and brood. 

No, his mood hadn't gotten better, not even with his dear so close to him, yet so far away from him.

Well, next day perhaps better luck.


End file.
